


Welcome to the Aftermath

by abrasivepersonalitytendersoul



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smol Angsty Yurio, Yakov doesn't get paid enough to handle Yurio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 15:07:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12213342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abrasivepersonalitytendersoul/pseuds/abrasivepersonalitytendersoul
Summary: Yakov didn't know about "Welcome to the Madness". This is my idea of how that skate art came to be. Other characters are mentioned, but they just kind of sit there.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Songs mentioned in this fic:  
> \- "Wrong Bitch" by Todrick Hall https://youtu.be/Us59fuIVgAk
> 
> *If you haven't watched "Welcome to the Madness" exhibition skate, do it now. 
> 
> **I Googled the Russian. If it needs fixed, please let me know. 
> 
> ***This is my first Yuri on Ice fan fiction, please be gentle with your comments.

Yuri released the breath he was holding as the final few notes of “Wrong Bitch” by Todrick Hall echoed off the walls of the rink. This had to be the music Yakov would finally agree to for his and Otabek’s exhibition skate in a few months. He had long resigned himself to the fact that Viktor and Yuuri would be stealing the show to begin with, no matter what routine they did, so that left Yuri with an unspoken challenge to up the wow factor and surprise the audience. Viktor hadn't been upstaged since Yakov was helping him through his first interviews after gaining a lot of media attention during his time in the junior division.

“Нет! Yuratchka, we get it, you're full of angst. For once in your life, can it not affect your skating? It almost cost you the gold in the Grand Prix Final. You're lucky that Katsuki is older than you and takes a little extra time to recover!”

“Привяжи его в задницу!” Yuri spat as he laced up his skate. “Viktor and that piggy got to pick their music, why can't I?” He leaned back in the bleachers and crossed his arms, effectively causing some of his blond hair to fall in front of his face which he attempted to blow out of the way.

“Because Viktor and Yuuri read their email,” the older man said with an exasperated sigh. 

“I don't have any idea of what you're talking about! What emails?” Yuri immediately grabbed his phone and opened his email app. “There's nothing here! I haven't gotten anything from you in over a year!”

Yuri looked up to see Yakov was already halfway to the other end of the rink where some first year skaters were beginning to teeter out onto the ice, waiting for him. Yuri refreshed the app again and still came up empty. He closed the app and called his partner who was on the last leg of his international DJ gig somewhere in Argentina. Building a friendship over time differentials was nothing new to them, but it did make planning a bomb ass exhibition skate that much more difficult.

“Beka,” the angry Russian began, “We have to start all over again. That crotchety old man said something about emails and the old farts getting to use whatever music they wanted because of some email that apparently went out to the whole team, but I never got. How does Piggy McKatsudon get a team email before me? He's from Japan! What do I have to do, be from fucking Cuba?” 

“God, shut up. I have a raging headache. Can you chill the fuck out?” Beka grumbled.

“Beka, now is not the time to use my real name. Yuri is fine.”

“I don't seem to remember calling you fuck face?”

Yuri let out a satisfied grunt at Otabek's response. They hadn't been friends for long, but he was sure he made a good choice in letting the mysterious, brooding man into his life. It was like being friends with a large cat.

“Yuri, you're getting the team emails, just not really. Do you remember how after the Grand Prix Final we snuck a third of the bar into my room and made up that drinking game about Victor and Katsuki?”

“That night comes and goes, but go on.”

“Well by the time we got around to watching the interviews, you decided you didn't want to have anything to do with their skating so I changed your email settings to filter anything with their names somehow attached to it into a special folder. Look for, “Дерьмо Свинячье,”” Beka said.

“What. Did. You. Do? You're so lucky you're not here right now otherwise I'd fuck you up! What were you thinking!? Were you even thinking at all!?”

“I was drunk! You were the most sober person in the room. I should have known that a little Квітка such as yourself couldn't handle more than some apple juice.”

Yuri could almost hear the smirk that was surely gracing his smart ass mouth. He desperately wanted to be angry, but he couldn't pull himself to it. The little bit he did remember from the banquet was intercepting Yakov's drinks before they reached him and skimming a little off the top. The man was certainly Russian in every sense of the word.

“Well when you get back, fix it. Victor may be making an appearance at this thing, but we're going to steal the show. You have to have come across something while you're doing this international club hopping thing.”

“I may have something, actually. Give me a couple days to figure it out. Let me know what you think of this song. I'll text you the link.”

“Excellent. I'll listen to it after I help Gandalf with this beginner's class. I guess it's a thing Victor did when he won. Like one of those, “reach for the stars” speeches. I swear, the first kid that barfs on me is going to get kicked with my knife shoes,” Yuri muttered.

“They're called skates, asshole,” Beka fired back.

“Whatever. досвидания.” 

Yuri ended the call and zipped his phone up in his bag. He heard the device vibrate against the metal bleachers as he tossed his guards off and entered the rink for a few warm up laps before joining Yakov and the little people.


	2. Chapter 2

Within the week, Otabek had returned to Russia. Things were gearing up for the season and now was the time to focus. He and Yuri had stayed a couple hours later than the rest of the team to perfect their exhibition routine. By the end of the night, the duo had their jumps and step sequences planned out in time with their music selection.

After packing up and putting the last of their equipment away, the boys left the rink and started towards Yuri's apartment. To be fair, it was technically his grandfather's, but that's only because Yuri wasn't old enough to sign the lease himself. His winnings and payouts from endorsements footed the bill for the place. 

Yuri was slightly ahead of Otabek on the stairs when he heard a series of thumps and curse words in at least three languages.

“What the fuck, Beka!?” Yuri exclaimed, turning around.

Otabek lay on the ground at the landing of the stairs, motionless and looking at the ceiling. Yuri ran down to him.

“Beka! You clumsy oaf! Get off your ass and let's go! You're a world renowned athlete, some stairs shouldn't be this hard!”

Beka glared at Yuri and started to get up. He winced in pain as he put pressure on his right foot.

“God fucking dammit! I think it's sprained. Help me get my shoe off, asshat.”

Yuri helped Beka to sit on the third stair and began untying his shoe. He could tell there was already some swelling in the ligament before he pulled the shoe off.

“I'm calling Yakov. This doesn't look good. The team trainer should be able to see you tomorrow,” Yuri said. He took out his phone and called his coach, who undoubtedly would be in bed by now, but he didn't give a flying fuck.

“Yakov? It's Yuri. Otabek's hurt.”

“Dammit, Yura. What were you dumbasses doing? Having a pissing contest?”

“Нет! Это серьезно! We were walking up the stairs to my apartment and he tripped over his clown feet. I've got his shoe off and it looks swollen. Like that time Georgi fucked up his ankle in London!”

“Oi! Focus. Can he move his toes?”

“Beka, move your toes!” Yuri barked.

Otabek wiggled his toes and grunted in pain.

“Yeah. It hurts him though. What should I do?” Yuri asked, voice cracking ever so slightly.

“You can take him to an emergency care center or hospital. If it was one of my beginners, I'd tell them to rest at home. With Altin, I'd suggest seeing a doctor as soon as possible. Regardless, the trainer can take a look at him tomorrow morning. Let me know your decision.”

Yuri ended the call and relayed Yakov's thoughts to his friend. Beka agreed that they can't be too careful, even though he's confident it's a sprain. They worked together to hobble down the stairs where Yuri called an Uber and fired off a text to Yakov about where they were going.

Four and a half hours later, they were back in Yuri's apartment, eating pizza and trying to figure out what to do with their program from there. Beka was going to be out for at least three weeks with the sprain alone, then another two for physical therapy, leaving the remaining week and a half for him to perfect the choreography and skate-assuming he was fully cleared to return to the ice.

“I really don't know what we should do about the exhibition. The old man and the pig are going to be disgusting. They may as well fuck on the ice!” Yuri said, dipping his crust into the garlic sauce cup.

“Unless you think you can lift me for most of the program, you may have to skate on your own,” Beka offered.

“Fuck that shit, asshole. You're a lard ass. I may as well put you on a sled and pull you around the rink. You'll probably go flying into the wall, which would be cool, but then I probably won't be able to kick your ass this season,” Yuri said.

“You know just as well as I do that you won gold by the hair on your dick. If Katsuki wasn't such a bottom and his ass hadn't been plowed the night before, he would have won.”

“How do you know that's what happened?” Yuri asked.

“I was on the other side of the wall and Victor’s ‘thick, juicy cock’ was enough to make Katsuki scream like a bitch.”

“Jesus, Altin! You pervert. I bet you jacked off the whole time too. Freak.”

“And I'm pretty sure Chris just stood by and watched. I'd be willing to bet money that he gets hard walking through a door.”

“Beka, I'm going to throw up if you don't shut up! As far as I'm concerned, none of them exist. But you did give me an idea for our skate.”

“Look, Yuri, I'm flattered, but I only fucked you because I still have nightmares about the banquet and dance-off.”

“You and I both know that's a lie. You've wanted my sweet candy ass since I was ten, you Желоб,” Yuri snarled between bites, “but imagine this…”


	3. Chapter 3

Yuri pulled himself off the ice and skated over to Otabek, who was starting to make his way to the rink exit to rid himself of his skates. He had been cleared to return to the ice under the condition that he build his strength back up and participated in physical therapy three times a week. He could skate normally forwards and backwards, but that was about it.

“How's it feel?” Yuri asked, face pointed away from the cameras. All the press knew was that Otabek hadn't been feeling well lately so his participation in the exhibition was going to be limited.

“Stiff, but usable.”

“Ugh, phrasing!”

“You had no complaints last week.”

“I could drop you, Beka.”

Otabek smirked at the thought of little Yuri Plisetsky trying to throw him on the ground. He may have the eyes of a soldier and an odd strength for his age and size, but he would be no match for Otabek's brute resistance.

The pair skated to the entrance and took up their skate guards without so much as looking at Yakov or the rest of the team. They sauntered back to the locker room to slip into their track suits. The first few minutes were so quiet, Yuri could hear his heartbeat. He had Yakov down to a science and counted in his head- “3, 2, 1.”

“Yuri Plisetsky! What the hell was that? That was not what we decided on for your routine! You are 16 years old and your grandfather was watching! The old man's back hurts enough so now you're going to strain his heart too? You have some nerve pulling that shit on international television! The only reason you were permitted to skate with Altin was so you'd shut the hell up about Vitya and Katsuki! What are we going to do with you?!” To say Yakov was fuming would be an understatement. 

Victor and Yuuri were on the other side of the locker room. The former was sitting on the bench with his signature finger to his lips watching his rink mate get torn a new asshole while the latter tried to keep his tears and laughter at bay. Georgi stood in a corner, pretending to listen to music, but was actually recording the whole ordeal. Otabek was removing his skates. His tongue lashing was next, but he wasn't worried. Yakov may have had a default setting for yelling, but spend a long period of time with either of his top skaters and you could understand why. 

Yakov turned to Otabek, his eyes narrowing. He shoved his index finger into the young man's chest. 

“And you! You need to get this injury squared away. If that Canadian fuck face can choke as hard as he did and still make it to the podium, then you need to work that much harder. You may not be Russian, but you mean a great deal to Yura so you mean a lot to me. Don't make me regret it.”

With a huff and primal yell, Yakov turned on his heel and stormed off, no doubt to satiate the press until the skaters were ready for their interviews. When the locker room door slammed behind him, an audible sigh escaped the men. Once they registered what just happened, they looked at each other, the “what the fuck just happened?” understood throughout the room.

“Fuck you, Beka. How does Old Man Winter like you more than us?” Yuri said, throwing his shoe at the man.


End file.
